two grumpy old men
by TheHarlequinnCat
Summary: Stan and Rick going to bed, a lil bit of fluff, a lil bit of grumpy old man loving. Someone requested their relationship now that they're older, this is how I'd see it.


_10:00 pm_

"I'm getting too old for staying up late." Stan muttered, rubbing his bleary eyes and putting his glasses back on. He leaned back into the couch, looking around the living room; there wasn't much to look at that interested him except the TV. He closed his eyes with a groan and stretched back, popping his back, as he let his eyes hide behind burning lids; he could fall asleep right now. Of course, this was not plausible since the immediate sensation of an unforgiving body plopped down beside him with an equally merciless burp in his general direction. "Rick!" He practically snarled through gritted teeth, massive hands raising to massage the bridge of his own nose. But the equally grumpy, if not older, man beside him did not take heed to this irritation; instead, he kicked back and gave Stan a coy peck on the cheek. He didn't need to say anything, that was all Rick had to do, all he ever had to do, and he would win an unspoken argument.

Stan's drooping eyes bored into the soap opera, one he had been equally as interested in as Rick the first four times they watched the entire season. Rick, despite Stan's house rules and demands, took a quick but desperate gulp from his flask. His face flushed pink and he whispered into Stan's ear, "Don't tell Stan." For but a moment Stanley wondered if Rick even know he was not his brother, but that smirk was playful and taunting; Rick was pulling his leg, pushing his buttons, .. Whatever you call it. He could barely pay attention to the dramatic scene on the TV, much less Rick's obnoxious teasing. The first three times they watched this season of the soap opera, they had been bawling; they had to watch it again and again. Now, Stan was just exhausted; fatigued from a day of trying to keep Mabel and Dipper from ending up just like he and Ford had. Just as he began to drift off too sleep again, the spindly body beside him sinking into him romantically, he thought that maybe he had reached the perfect level of inner peace; how could he be disturbed or annoyed when he felt so loved-

"URRRRPPP" Rick belched right in his face.

Stan's face drew tense as the overwhelming scent of alcohol and stomach acid hit him, "That's it! Get off me Rick! I'm goin' to bed and YOU are sleeping on the couch!"

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but he was too tired to care. He stood up and heaved his body to his room like a troll taking its leave from battle; he wondered why that came into his head, and knew he'd heard too much Dungeons Dungeons and more Dungeons being played in this house. He heard Rick's half-assed plea that he needed to calm down and have a drink, but he was not having this in his house tonight. He couldn't get drunk when he had the kids to take care of in the morning, the shop to open, and even if he didn't have to do anything per se; Rick was still being more difficult than he could handle. God, he could see the pout on Rick's face; just like he had so many years ago. That stupid goon knew how to weasel his way into Stan's heart, that was for sure.

...

 _12:49 am_

The heavy oak door creaked open, making a sound that resembled a whistling tea pot, and Rick stepped into his lover's bedroom. He had finished the show, or the season, and felt unusual guilt for the discord of tonight. His feet were cold too, he needed Stan beside him; that gross old man was his fucking heat blanket. With hardly nimble feet, he made his way to bed and wriggled under the sheets; wrapping his arms around Stan's back and nuzzling into the crevice of his neck. Stan was a cuddler, it always made him feel loved no matter how angry he got. Of course, it was risky business pulling a stunt like this; Rick had been elbowed in the gut for shit like this when they were younger. The man's breathing was deep, the gentle rumble of his almost snores used to annoy Rick; but now he found them almost comforting, since it was such a low resonance in the caverns of Stan's chest. Finally, his last move, he'd gotten so far, he wedged his cold toes under Stan's.

Oh shit. "Rick... What. Are. You. Doing." Stanley groaned, pulling away from the frigid limbs that tangled around him. His face twisted in scorn as he strained to crack one eye open to give Rick a good death glare. Rick only snuggled closer, "I'm going to sleep." He responded lightly, inhaling the rugged musty smell of the laundry detergent in the sheets. The only thing that could make it more perfect was a nice candle lit fire and a clambaked room, just like old times. It sure was different loving Stan now that they were older, so much had changed, yet still felt the same; as though they had just picked up where they dropped their relationship and despite their mutual commitment issues, decided that they were content with their lives together. Stan murmured a string of curses that would make the creepy crawlies hiding under the floorboards disappear, but after he craned his head back to plant a chapped kiss on Rick's thin lips. It was the only way he could really _be_ soft, he still had to keep that grisly barrier of his ego up. Rick didn't seem to care, in fact, he pleasantly stroked circles on Stan's back and chest. "If you're going for what I think you're going for I'll have you know we're not all inter-dimensional time travelers who can get fuckin' space viagra or some shit. I'm old, Rick, and honestly too tired to try." He grumbled, now staring at Rick with a somewhat irate expression; but neither of them could see in the dark.

"J-Jesus, Stan, you always have to go annnd ruin the moment like that." Rick hissed, rolling over and putting his energy into curling into himself for warmth. A few minutes of silence passed, he was pretty sure someone just hotboxed a nasty dutch oven under the covers; but he didn't really know who. Now that ruined a moment. Sleep took him surprisingly fast, he disappeared into a haze of dreams and nightmares...

...

 _4:49 am_

Rick never slept well, it was a well known fact he had virtually no set sleep schedule unless he popped sleep pills and drank. But, right now, he felt stable and safe; wrapped up in a warm wide embrace, the low hum of Stan's breathing driving against his shoulder. He was little spoon for the first time in years, so many years, and he found it oddly refreshing. He allowed himself to close his eyes and murmur with a soft laugh, "I love you."


End file.
